


I Never Would Have Let You Go

by shirleyholmes



Series: Tumblr Mini-fics [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, POV John Watson, Post-Reichenbach, casebook, that damn coat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:23:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirleyholmes/pseuds/shirleyholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the night they ran from the police, John was still holding onto Sherlock's coat, even after they stopped holding hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Would Have Let You Go

You were different, you know that? Of course you did. Different and stunning and brilliant, not of this world, and everytime I looked at you, I wondered what one extremely ordinary army doctor was doing following on your coattails.

I never complained, did I Sherlock? Wouldn’t have, you know. I’d have followed you off that rooftop, if you’d just bothered to ask. A nice, “Hey John, let’s commit suicide. It’ll be dangerous.” I could see you doing it. 

Inconvenient. Dangerous. You used them to lure me in, you thought, but you never really needed to, not with me. No. I didn’t mind, Sherlock, I really didn’t, but there was a deal, you know, an unspoken pact between us and what you weren’t allowed to do was leave me behind. 

We buried you in that damn coat. Mycroft offered it to me, he offered me your violin, your money, everything, but even he couldn’t give me what I needed. You, Sherlock.

I needed you.

I still do.

I couldn’t take any of it, in the end. All those damn memories, what was I going to do with them? I thought you’d like that coat. Keep you warm or something, stupidly sentimental, right? 

I didn’t need it, anyways. I had the memory. Of the rough tweed under my fingers, the brush of your warm knuckles against my own, that last time, when I truly thought we might, just maybe, make it through, be together always. I grasped the coat once you let go of my hand, wanted something to hold onto you by, because you were shifting and changeable and otherworldly and I wanted to reassure myself that, right then, you were still mine. 

If you’d only told me, Sherlock.

I never would have let you go.


End file.
